“Or I saw them,” he agreed. Sloughing off the pack, Korbyn plopped down in the sand. “Let’s eat lunch.”

She halted. “Now? But we’re so close!”

“Us walking will save them ten minutes of riding,” Korbyn said. “Let them come to us. We can then ride into camp refreshed.” He glugged water from the waterskin and then handed it to Liyana. Digging into the pack, he produced a flat cake composed of baked tuber. He bit into it. “Needs spices,” he commented. “We can borrow some from Sendar’s people. Oh, and I should warn you that Sendar’s clan may or may not hate me, thanks to that whole incident with the race. Sendar’s a sore loser.”

Liyana choked down a bite of the baked tuber and then gave it back to Korbyn, who gobbled it up. “Have they had their summoning ceremony yet?” She wondered how this clan would react to their news. She wished she could have told hers. Instead they were bound for Yubay, not knowing their dreamwalk was doomed to fail.

“We will know soon enough,” Korbyn said.

As they came, she saw that the riders were wrapped head to toe in blue. Thin slits in the cloth showed their eyes and mouths. Swords were strapped to their backs, and bows and arrows were affixed to their saddles. She wondered if they were hunters or warriors. She knew the Horse Clan had an ample supply of both. Their magnificent horses needed to be defended against thieves, especially during the annual fair. “What if they think we’re horse thieves?” she asked.

“They’ll cut off our hands, gouge out our eyes, and feed us to the vultures.” He chomped on the tuber. “Or they’ll feed us to the horses, if food is scarce enough.”

“This doesn’t worry you?” Liyana asked.

“I’d prefer not to lose my eyes.”

She dropped down in the sand next to him and drank deeply from the waterskin. “With your divine wisdom and superior intellect, do you have a plan?”

He flashed her a smile. “I plan . . . to tell the truth.” He spread both his hands, palms out, as if to show his innocence. “I know, it’s a rash course of action, one that I personally have never attempted, but I believe it’s worth a try.”

“I hope they give you a chance.” The riders had shifted into a canter. The horses thundered toward Korbyn and Liyana, kicking up sand under their hooves.

“As do I,” he said softly.

Sand sprayed over Liyana and Korbyn as the riders reined in their horses a few feet away. One horse pawed the ground and snorted, as if it wanted to continue to run. The other two held as still as soldiers. None of the riders dismounted.

Korbyn held up his hand in greeting.

“You trespass on Horse Clan territory during the sacred time,” the first said—it was a woman’s voice, harsh and low. Liyana couldn’t see the woman’s face through the cloth. Only her eyes were visible.

The second, a man, added, “If you are in need of water and sustenance, we will share what we carry, but we cannot invite you to share the hospitality of our camp at this time.”

The third didn’t speak. He held a knife in his beefy hand.

Korbyn gestured at the tuber cakes and waterskins. “Please, we invite you to share our food and water. The tubers are not bad, albeit a bit bland.”

“Your names and clan,” the woman demanded.

“We have come to offer assistance to the Horse Clan,” Korbyn said.

Liyana thought it was wise that Korbyn hadn’t volunteered his identity, despite his resolution to tell the truth. The third rider had not loosened his grip on his knife.

“We do not need assistance from strangers,” the woman said.

“Your clan chief will wish to speak with us,” Korbyn said merrily. “At present our needs and interests coincide.”

The third rider grunted, and his horse huffed as if echoing him.

“ ‘At present’ is an interesting word choice,” the second rider said. “Are we to presume that your intentions are honest and peaceful ‘at present’?”

The first rider shifted in her saddle. Her horse strained at the bridle as if the mare wanted to run again. “You cannot be considering—” she began.

“One man, one woman, no mounts,” the second said, waving at them. “One supply pack. Two waterskins. And the nearest well is a week’s journey.”

“Nine days, actually,” Korbyn volunteered.

Ignoring him, the second rider continued. “The chief asked for anything unusual, and I believe this qualifies.”

“This is a mistake,” the first rider growled.

“Your objection is noted,” the second rider said.

Korbyn rose in a smooth movement. Belatedly Liyana scrambled to her feet. Her muscles, sore from the endless trek, protested. Korbyn noticed and reached out to steady her. “Could we ride with you?” he asked the riders. “It has been a long and tiring journey.”

“Only if you give us your weapons,” the first rider said.

Liyana was not giving up Jidali’s knife. “I’ll walk.”

Korbyn raised both his eyebrows at her. “You surprise me,” he said to her. “It has been a long time since I met anyone who surprised me.” She wanted to ask if that was good or bad. If they’d been alone, she would have. Instead she began walking toward the oasis. Korbyn trudged along with her, and the three riders spread out on either side and behind them.

“If they touch their weapons on their way through camp,” the second rider said to the third, “you have my permission to skewer them.”

Through the mouth slit in the facecloth, Liyana saw the third rider’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes remained as flat and expressionless as a diamond cobra’s. She shivered and kept walking. She kept her hands by her sides, away from her knife.

The Horse Clan tents circled the date palm trees. Made of burgundy, black, and spotted hide, the tents were tall and round as opposed to low triangles—a visual reminder that this wasn’t Liyana’s clan. Men, women, and children were engaged in ordinary and familiar tasks: Clothes were being mended, bread was being kneaded, blankets were being woven, and animals were being cared for. Inside the circle of tents, the green heart of the oasis belonged to the horses. They grazed on the tufts of dried grasses and nibbled at the peeling bark of the trees. Seeking shade, foals leaned against their mothers. Under one tree, two stallions butted chests in a mock battle. From a distance, it looked idyllic. But as they passed the outer circle of tents, Liyana noticed that the horses’ hides were as dull and patchy as worn blankets, and their ribs pressed against their flesh. Flies buzzed around the face of one chestnut mare, and pus leaked from her eyes. The horse troughs were empty.

“Sendar’s herd used to be the jewel of the desert,” Korbyn said in a soft voice.

Even more than her clan needed Bayla, these people needed their deity. Horses couldn’t digest the brittle desert bushes that the goats ate in times of severe draught. “Who would take our gods away from us?” Liyana asked.

Again Korbyn didn’t answer.

As they passed through the camp, Liyana scanned the faces, trying to spot a friendly expression. Most faces were covered in blue or white cloth, and those that weren’t looked gaunt with prominent cheekbones and sunken cheeks—they mirrored their bony horses. Men and women dropped their tasks and followed. She heard whispers that rose to a steady locust-like hum.

The riders led them to an ornate tent covered in tassels. The hide walls were desert tan but decorated with images of hoofprints and swirls. The peak of the tent was higher than that of any of the other tents, and its girth was double. She guessed that this was the clan’s council tent.

As they approached, the tent flap was tossed open, and the largest man that Liyana had ever seen emerged. He had to twist sideways to pass through the tent opening. Framed by the prevalent blue cloth, his long, horselike face tapered into a twisted beard that reminded Liyana of a horse’s tail. He wore tan, leather robes with golden tassels. A fat sword hung from his beaded belt, and he held a horse whip in one hand. He scowled at them. “I am the chief of the Horse Clan. You trespass at a sacred time.”